Sympathy for the Devil
by Tara1189
Summary: Klaus smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. His lips were dark as wine, dark as old blood. "So what happens, love, when we both have to be in control?"
1. Part I

**Author's note: **So while Season 4 pretty much killed my love for Delena, I can _almost _forgive it because we got so many _amazing _Klaroline scenes. This was intended as a oneshot, but snowballed out of control (as usual) so will be posted in three parts. Picks up where Season 4 finished, so everyone assumes that Stefan left town, Bonnie's still alive, etc.

**About The Originals spinoff... **while I'm acknowledging its existence, I'm not referring to it any more than I have to as the whole Hayley!mystical baby storyline has soured me on the entire concept before it's even started (that, and the fact that we're losing JoMo on TVD).

I know that Klaus-shows-Caroline-the-world is the least original idea ever, but what the hell. My muse kept prodding me. Just read and enjoy.

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**Sympathy for the Devil**

* * *

_**Please allow me to introduce myself**_

* * *

The wide, sprawling lawns of the Lockwood mansion were in the full flush of summer as he approached the house that lay still and silent under a cold silver moon. He walked unhurriedly through the garden, past the glass-smooth lake, making his way easily up the terraced steps. His fingers momentarily lingered over the scrolled brass handle, but thinking better of it, he knocked politely, like any gentleman would.

The embossed door was wrenched open savagely. A momentary glimpse of the high-ceilinged entrance hall, a sweeping marble staircase behind, before his vision was blinded by a brightness like the sun. Appearing in a slant of light that spilled through the half-open French doors. He could see the tension in the steely set of her shoulders, hear the delicious _thrum _of her pulse. All tightly-pursed lips and narrowed eyes and sharp edges. A stake in her hand that he knew with a single glance wasn't white oak – Klaus inwardly grinned at that – she wasn't even _trying _any more.

"Put the stake down, sweetheart," he said pleasantly. "Before somebody gets hurt."

"Only Matt can invite you in," Caroline said at once. "And that's not going to happen in the next _ever_, so you're wasting your time."

"Perhaps," agreed Klaus, "Or I could burn this house to the ground, but it would be easier all round if you just stepped outside so we could have a civilised conversation."

A pause. He had lived long enough – that old hunter's instinct honed within him and ruthlessly attuned to her reactions – to know that she was toying with the idea of resistance or outright defiance _(a challenge, is it, love?)_ … then she shrugged, yet even that _refused _to be submissive. Regarding him with a _(painfully thin) _veneer of detached indifference.

"Fine."

Stiletto heels clicked against the stone portico as she primly stepped over the threshold. Her profile deliberately turned away from him, only half-acknowledging his presence. Still, she was tantalising even in the partial view he had of her face, so tenderly recreated a hundred times in his sketches and thoughts and fevered imaginings. Skin like porcelain, light and shadow in her eyes. A spill of gold hair over her shoulders. He was close enough to smell her perfume (smell her blood). His heart twisted and burned. The desire for her was a hunger that could not – could _never_ – be satiated.

Klaus knew he had only two options – kill her, or _have _her. And he knew already that he couldn't let her die. That left him only the latter choice. Already, he felt himself beginning to be unable to comprehend an existence without her. But he was prepared to act the respectful suitor for a while longer yet.

"Graduation suits you, Caroline."

She had learned to accept his compliments more graciously, no longer scoffing or disbelieving or cutting him short with contemptuous glares. Merely took them in her stride _(like the queen she thought herself)._

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"Just old-fashioned intuition."

He saw her shift uneasily at that, and a cynical smile twisted his lips – yes, easier for her to believe he had compelled half the town to find her whereabouts than admit to herself the possibility that he might know her, _understand _her.

She leaned back against the door, closing her eyes. "Isn't there someone else's life you can be messing with?" she asked wearily.

_That _provoked him. "Messing with? When last I looked, love, I was _saving _it – cleaning up your mess from the witches _you _slaughtered! A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss."

"You want me to _thank _you? You have no _idea –_"

She was glowing with anger, _burning _with it, and he would have done anything to grasp a piece of that fire. Even if it consumed him whole. He had learned in his long years of tenuous alliances with witches that everything came with a price and this was one he'd willingly pay. Yet he was too arrogant not to admit that these shows of contempt set his teeth on edge. Giving her the upper hand meant he could at least bask in the heat of her anger, but sometimes he wanted to remind her that she only had that upper hand because he allowed her to. His lips curved with a slow, predatory grin. Let her have her little victories. They would be short-lived.

Then he leaned forward suddenly, a furrow creasing his brow as he saw the shadows of tiredness beneath her eyes. Something had knocked the edges off her bright and bouncy confidence. His voice softened with genuine concern.

"What's happened, Caroline?"

"Nothing," she said, with a sigh. "It's… nothing."

"Now, supposing you tell me what it is that's got you in such a state?"

She didn't reply but thrust a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. Klaus took it from her – momentarily allowing his fingers to linger with pulsing intent on her own before she shot him a warning glare – and began to read with interest.

_Dear Caroline,_

_I know you said Klaus is gone and we're safe, but I need to be sure. After what happened with Mom, I'm not taking any chances. I can't come back until I know I can protect_ _us. In the meantime, I just hope this messed-up _thing _Klaus has got for you is enough to keep you alive. _

_I'm with a pack in Australia. They're showing me all these incredible things; how to stay myself when I turn, how to dreamwalk… it's like I'm finally understanding who I am, what I can do. I've spent my whole life living for other people; my Dad, Jules, being Sired to Klaus… I've gotta do this for me. I need to live my own life for a while. I know this is gonna be hard for you to hear, and I miss you _so much, _but we have forever, Care._

_I'm sorry I missed graduation. I'm sorry for all the other stuff I'm gonna miss, but you were _made _to be happy. And you will be. I just hope that one day – soon – we can be happy together. Until then_

_All my love,_

_Tyler_

Klaus gazed contemplatively at the letter in his hand, toying between savage elation and outrage that he had allowed the boy to live long enough to cause Caroline even a _moment's _pain. _I will rip out the _heart _of anyone who hurts you – _

She shone, brighter than the sun, and he would allow no eclipse. Not from anyone. He should have splattered Tyler Lockwood's _brains _across the mansion's polished vestibule that night of the prom (because this _was _personal, _mate, _all's fair in love and war and the like). His hands curled into fists, itching to kill, to _tear _the young wolf's heart from his body and _crush _it in his palm, feel the blood spilling across his fingers –

The thoughts halted when he saw the look on her face – broken but determined, pale and earnest. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to hold her. Comfort her. However, old habits died too hard, and too often hatred was stronger than love.

"I see his skills as letter writer leave something to be desired."

"Shut up," she said mechanically, though there wasn't much energy in it. Her gaze cut to his, sharp and accusing. "So is that why you came here? To gloat?"

"Actually the opposite, love. I came to satisfy myself that you were living the life you wanted, that you were _happy, _so I could return to New Orleans with a clear conscience."

"You don't _have _a conscience," she seethed. "If you did, you would never have driven Tyler away in the first place –"

"_Then I set him free_. It was his choice to stay gone."

"So tell him. _Make _him come back."

Klaus laughed outright at that. "And why would you _possibly _expect me to do that?"

Dark blue eyes widened in appeal, her upturned face softening into an expression that was painfully vulnerable. "Because I'm asking you."

…

Klaus stilled for a moment, regarding her carefully. Casually graceful in a long-sleeved sweater and black jacket, his hands in his pockets as he stood in the doorway, deceptively at ease. A handsome, chiselled face alive with beautiful, merciless villainy. That aura of danger surrounding him like sulphur in the air of an incoming storm. Caroline could tell by his expression that he wasn't pleased. She knew that look too well – it was the look she usually saw right before bodies started piling up…

"Given that since the moment he was turned, he has done nothing but try to destroy me, I think I've already done enough for Tyler Lockwood, don't you?"

"You _killed _his mother!"

"And you have all conspired to kill two of my brothers, yet instead of tearing the hearts out of each and every single one of you, I'm allowing you all to live your lives as you wish. Don't make me regret that act of mercy."

"You call it _mercy_ not slaughtering all of us? God, I can't believe I even thought you were capable of a _shred _of decency_ –_"

Azure eyes blazed. His anger flared like sheet lightning. Rage contorted his face into something menacing. Facing her was the Klaus of old, unfriendly and vindictive (_he still is, _Caroline reminded herself forcefully). She could never forget his hardness, his cruelty, his egoism. This was Niklaus the Hybrid, who tortured and killed without remorse, who had driven Tyler away and was the reason she was in this whole damn _mess _in the first place. She didn't owe him _anything. _

"Oh I see," he hissed with venom. "You're angry with Tyler, so you choose to take it out on me. You should count yourself lucky that I'm so indulgent of these little tantrums, because if I wasn't, there wouldn't be much left of you now –"

"_Bite _me."

His eyes burned with savage promise. "That's not really the smartest challenge you could give me."

With a boldness she did not feel, she pushed on, "Don't you get it? I'm not one of your little minions, Klaus, one of your Hybrids you can order around like slaves. You can't compel me, or _control _me or scare me –"

The hard lines of his face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. Caroline felt the tension lift from her shoulders with momentary relief, but at the same time, she knew he wouldn't tolerate these outbursts from anyone else. There was always that disquiet beneath the skin, that thrill of fear that made her wonder what he would do the day she pushed him too far.

"Dearest Caroline," he said, that velvet drawl all-too familiar, "Has it never occurred to you that's why you interest me so much?"

There was too much suggestion in his tone, too many memories _(because of you, Caroline, it was all for _you…) She felt that familiar pull, powerful, hypnotic, deadly. He possessed a rare combination of charismatic grace and hedonistic abandon, and his ability to change so rapidly from one extreme to the other was what made him truly dangerous.

She sighed, the impulsive flash of temper softening slightly. She knew she wasn't truly angry, not really. But anger was easier to endure than the crushing weight of _sadness. _"He was the only one who always put me first," she whispered.

"Not the only one, love."

His voice had an unsettling effect on her, those cultured tones soft and sly, curling around the darker recesses of her mind that were wired to an impulse of _huntfeedkill_; an impulse that was generally easy to ignore – even before she was turned, Caroline had always possessed super-human levels of self-control – but those urges seemed to awaken in his presence. Perhaps it was because he had made it very evident that he saw her as so much _more _than just a small-town high school girl.

"Now, why is it you're here all alone? Surely your friends should be offering you their support in this trying time?"

"Elena's playing house with _Damon_ _–_" Caroline made no attempt to hide the disgust she felt about _that _– "Bonnie's staying at her Mom's, Stefan's gone completely AWOL so he must've skipped town, and Matt's spending the summer with that skank Rebekah –"

"My sister may be a spiteful, clingy, co-dependant harlot," said Klaus, "But she is still my sister and I'll not have her insulted."

"Well, she's gone too. Everyone's gone." Her voice was dull and flat. "So – as you can see," she gave a bitter, on-edge-of-tears laugh, gesturing a hand vaguely around her, "I'm on my own."

"And what, exactly, would you like me to do about it?"

His tone was polite and inquiring. His lips were pleasant. Familiar. Sincere.

Caroline glanced at him with something close to appeal in her eyes. "Get me out of here," she said.

Klaus smiled, blood and courteousness and triumph. Extended a hand.

"_Gladly."_

* * *

_**I'm a man of wealth and taste**_

* * *

"_Paris?" _Her voice was high with disbelief. "You brought me to _Paris?"_

"You were expecting the Grill perhaps?"

Caroline glanced around at the hundreds of tourists swarming around the Louvre's _Cour Napoléon_, aware that she was inadvertently being snapped in a dozen flashing photographs. She lowered her voice to a caustic whisper. "I did _not _give you permission to take me across international borders!"

Klaus spread out his hands innocently, his calmly reasonable voice making her want to crack his skull against the external glass pyramid, witnesses be damned. "You wanted me to get you out."

"Yeah, _out. _As in, to a bar where you can compel the busboys into letting me drink my body weight in tequila."

"I thought this idea had a touch more sophistication." His gaze lingered on her. "And you went along with it." His remark was too pointed to be comfortable.

Caroline rallied herself quickly. "Technically, I'm still seventeen," she hissed. "I could have you in jail for kidnapping a minor –"

"Easy, love," he murmured, "People are staring."

His lips hovered at the nape of her neck. Not close enough to be indecent. Too close to be comfortable. Caroline shivered at that touch, insidiously familiar, that lingered uncomfortably on her skin the way his face had in her mind these last few weeks. She had _felt _his absence ever since graduation. Haunted by moonlit whispers and dark memories and unfulfilled promises. But she had told herself scornfully that his fascination with her had faded, that he had gotten bored, moved on. But now she realised that he truly hadn't been exaggerating that night of the Mikaelson ball. He really did want to show her the world.

"We can go home, if you like. I can take you back to Mystic Falls, leave you to work through your break-up issues and not come near you for the next half a century. You just need to say the word. Or," he continued softly, "You could take a risk, and embrace the opportunity to finally _live _for once."

She fell silent. It was impossible not to be impressed – _awed – _but the imposing classical architecture, the realisation she was standing outside one of the most famous landmarks in the world. Which was, of course, probably exactly what he had intended. And she would rather be force-fed vervain than admit it, but she was _curious _about this side of Klaus that only revealed itself at the rarest moments – those occasional glimpses of what he might have been (what he _could _be) under different circumstances.

"Tell me, Caroline. Has anyone ever taken you anywhere? Or do they all still continue to take you for granted, content with the knowledge that you're so _willing _to bend over backwards to save their lives, time and time again?"

"They would do the same for me."

"Would they?" His lips twisted into something like a smile, only much worse.

"_Yes. _Because they're my _friends. _Something I guess you don't know much about."

The glint of his teeth as he regarded her challengingly. "What are you so afraid of, Caroline?"

She felt her blood rise at the provocation. A flicker of amusement danced behind his eyes. His audacity was maddening, _infuriating _–and even acknowledging that, allowing herself to admit that he had gotten under her skin, was dangerous.

"If I agree to this," she said firmly. "There have to be conditions."

"Conditions?" he said amusedly. At his arched brow, she rushed on.

"One, no killing anyone. Two, no Compulsion –"

"Now really, love –"

"_Three, _you take me home as soon as I ask. Four, no getting handsy. Five, you don't get to talk about Tyler, _ever_ –"

Suddenly, he caught her wrist, forcing her attention. Holding her gaze, and she didn't blink, didn't look away _(couldn't)._ Even though she was on vervain, Caroline thought his eyes had no need of compulsion to be deadly. They were a strange shade of blue – sometimes more grey or green or black depending on his mood. _Mesmerizing. _With the power to strip away her forced indifference and manufactured scorn within moments.

"You've only seen the worst side of me, Caroline," he said, so earnestly she was uncomfortably certain he was being sincere. "Let me show you the best."

Her heart was in her throat, fluttering. She would rather have dealt with Klaus the murderer than Klaus the ardent suitor. His hand was warm on her beating pulse. She struggled to sound offhand, careless (she would _never _let him know he affected her). "Does this mean you'll be on good behaviour?"

"A perfect gentleman," he promised.

…

"I assume this is your first time in the Louvre?" he asked conversationally, as they weaved their way between the throngs of people meandering through the gallery (_Cattle_, Klaus thought derisively, _mere pawns to be used at will)._

Caroline shrugged. "I read _The da Vinci Code._"

Klaus smiled. "I hope my rendition will be a little more faithful than that."

"So, I guess this is like the hundredth time you've been here," she said in a studiously bored tone.

"Not quite. But let's just say it was very different the last time I was in Paris."

It had been too long since he last been in the Louvre or _anywhere _he could immerse himself so fully in art and culture, indulging in timeless beauty to forget the ugliness of the last ten centuries. Too many long years fleeing his father, hearing whispers of _doppelgangers, _acquiring witches, pursuing old enemies, old blood, old feuds, old resentments. His heart beating a constant pulse of revenge and hate.

And she was _lifetimes _away from it all. Innocent and so _young _to his old eyes. He knew deep down that he wasn't worthy of her, that he was the darkness behind her sun. And yet… it was that strong, bright, incorruptible quality that drew him to her. To let a little chink of that light in, to let it spill golden and bright into the dark corners of his blackened soul, drenched in the blood of too many murders.

So as they wandered around the Richelieu wing, Klaus's hand resting lightly on her arm (that she hadn't snatched it away caused a sly tug of triumph in his heart, made his blood _croon_) he recounted to her the history of the palace (he had found time to attend the grand opening in 1793, momentarily allowing himself a respite from the banquet of blood running through the streets like uncorked wine during the violence and terror of the Revolution). He exerted himself, made an effort to be courteous, polite, civil. He knew that she was impressed in spite of herself, he saw it in the flicker of interest that lit her eyes, the way her lips forgot to maintain that expression of sulky boredom and half-parted expectantly…

This was all he had wanted. To show her the world, to have someone to _share _all these incredible sights with. Beauty. Extravagance. _Intrigue._ To experience that faint nostalgia that stirred when he looked into her ingenuous eyes that drank in these things for the first time. Lulled by the brilliancy of her presence, and left with the faint sense of regret that he could not have met her centuries, lifetimes ago. Would it have altered the ferocious and despotic course of his egoistic nature?

Watching Caroline covetously as she stood before a Caravaggio, reading through the information pamphlet in her hand with the fierce concentration with which she did _everything,_ Klaus could almost believe it.

* * *

_**I've been around for a long, long year**_

* * *

His voice was in her ear like a charm, his hand on her arm like a vice. Caroline civilly allowed him to walk her through the gallery, listening with an interest she pretended not to feel. This was Klaus in his element. All those elaborate, intricate courtesies, playing the gentleman, so charming and sophisticated. She caught glimpses of great knowledge, great experience, and felt an intense, curious longing to see the world through his eyes. To be able to fascinate someone of such culture and insight _was_ flattering, though she would never admit it. She was certain he was trying to court her. She was _(almost) _certainit wouldn't work. It had been easier back in the days when she had firmly believed his pursuit of her to be a cunningly calculated move, designed only to manipulate – target the weakest link in the group, the baby Vamp who was still idealistic enough to buy into all that sugar-coated, fairy-tale _crap –_

But the _way_ he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful thing in the world, like nothing and nobody else existed. And he didn't want her because she was some mystical doppelgänger, or because she was an infamous Ripper or just another soldier for his Hybrid army… he wanted _her._ Viciously determined to possess her, relentlessly determined in his pursuit of her. She was scared because, deep down, she knew she couldn't resist him forever. Scared because a part of her didn't _want _to.

But for now, he had been a perfect gentleman through and through. _This _was the Klaus she had glimpsed at the Mikaelson ball – that she had _forced _herself to believe was an elaborate façade, designed only to ensnare her – bright-eyed and eager, glowing with fervour, his voice hushed with a respect she had never seen him show towards _anything… _except her. It was all too smooth, too guileless, too good to be true. Caroline smiled politely, but her nails dug into her palms as she silently vowed that she was not going to be fooled by these gestures of civility. She was _not _the weak, fragile little girl of her pre-Vamp days who jumped at the chance of any boy showing her attention. Not anymore. Not now that she had Tyler (and she bit down the pain of that, bit down so hard she tasted blood, sharp and bitter).

She paused in front of a painting where a woman in a gold dress was caught in a struggle – or a furiously passionate embrace – with a man bolting shut the door. The four-poster bed lay to the left in decadent disarray, billowing red drapes tangled among the sheets where an apple lay subtly exposed. She didn't need Klaus at her shoulder _(always too close,_ _lingering)_ to explain the symbolism of that. Want. Temptation. Desire. Intensity.

"Ah, now look at this. Fragonard was known for the hedonistic eroticism in his Bolt, or _Le Verrou _–"

She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised curiously. "You speak French?"

"_Mais naturellement, ma chérie_. I spent some time in the French court in the Eighteenth Century. It was very… illuminating. You should have seen it, Caroline. Extravagant, ambitious… _decadent_." His eyebrows arched up as full lips curled into an appreciative leer. "You would have flourished there."

Caroline felt the surface of her skin tingle with the beginnings of anger. It was an insulting compliment or a complimentary insult – she wasn't sure which. A scathing comment burned on the tip of her tongue, but Klaus had resumed that air of politeness and courtesy, regarding the painting with something close to reverence.

"Look at the brushwork. Isn't it exquisite?"

"But yours are better, right?"

"Do you really think me so arrogant?"

She lifted a brow coyly. "Aren't you?" She barely caught herself in time_ (flirting? Seriously, Caroline?) _To recover lost ground, she added with supreme indifference, "I thought all megalomaniacs were."

Without waiting for a reply, Caroline turned and walked away, the sound of her heels echoing on the polished floor. Even from the other side of the long gallery, the image of the painting remained uncomfortably in her head, like the press of cool fingers in her mind.

…

A steady grey rain had begun to fall over the Parisian streets as they walked across the _Pont Alexandre III, _past the white-and-gold statues of cherubs and nymphs**.** The Seine ran slowly by beneath, the Eiffel Tower standing tall in the distance. Entwined couples wandered past, arm in arm (_blissful, romantic and foolish, none of them had centuries of blood and fury and madness to contend with_).

Caroline had her face turned up to the rain, the droplets trickling silver down the sides of her cheeks and threading through her hair in watery strings. Klaus could sense that she was gradually becoming more and more restless, shifting one pointed stilettoed heel and then another. Finally, she faced him, blue eyes cold as diamonds and boring into his as though she could compel him.

"Okay, what is this?"

He continued to look up at the arches appreciatively. "Well, I believe they're known as the _Nymphs of the Seine –"_

Caroline glared at him. "Don't be smart." Hands on her hips, her expression stern. "The truth, Klaus. Why did you bring me here?"

Klaus paused, wondering just how much to tell her. He was reluctant to lie, but instinct warned him that she wasn't ready for the full truth – not yet. And, after all, she had manipulated him before – _twice._ Dressed-up and drawn out to entice him _(sin in a plunging black slip),_ allowed herself to be used as pretty blonde _bait. _A snarl caught in his throat at the memory (and at himself, for falling for it both times). She was not so innocent in all this, either.

"Let's just say you and I both have things we want to get away from. You had your teenage angst with Tyler, and I had a little trouble in New Orleans."

Caroline frowned, clearly unnerved at the thought of what could possibly disturb an all-powerful Hybrid that couldn't be killed. Clever girl. "What kind of trouble?"

"Just some witches that want me dead, Tyler's little wolf friend Hayley making a nuisance of herself and a former protégé who's grown too arrogant for his good and thinks he can overthrow me. Nothing to concern yourself about."

"I wasn't concerned."

"Then why did you ask?"

She pressed her lips together and said nothing. There were fissures and cracks in the porcelain of her skin, and Klaus wondered whether it was her grief over Tyler leaving or something more, something deeper that she would not admit, even to herself. How he longed to know what secret thoughts lurked beneath that alabaster surface. It was humiliating_ (intriguing) _to realise that he couldn't just snap her spine nor simply compel her into compliance. All the supernatural power in the world couldn't make her open up to him if she didn't want to.

"I must have been crazy to agree to this," she muttered.

"Crazy or not, you still agreed."

Brilliant colour flushed across her cheeks. Arms crossed, pulling the denim tight across her chest, pretty face set in a scowl. "Just so we're clear," she said, "This _isn't _a date."

"Of course not," he said soothingly.

"I'm serious, Klaus."

"Then far be it from me to contradict you."

The _defiance _with which she faced him, displaying such strength and confidence, was fascinating. The back and forth wordplay, her sharp remarks like a slashing rapier – he was enthralled. There was something so _untouchable _about her like this – polished and pristine in a light, feminine summer dress _(when he wanted her wild-eyed with mussed hair, blood smearing her mouth) _but even in her most resistant moments, she still continued to engage him at every turn. Her lips repelled while her eyes invited. And that was why he would never, _never _give up the hunt. Even if it took centuries. He had chased Katerina for five hundred years, and love was a far more addictive stimulant than hatred.

He could chase Caroline forever.

And this time, there would be no Elijah dirtying his hands on his behalf, while he watched from afar only to furiously tolerate failure after failure _(anyone would think your heart isn't in it, little brother). _

No, Klaus would have her for himself, or die trying _(and you can't die when you're immortal) – _

"Come on," he said, slipping an arm through hers. "I know a perfect place to watch the sun set."


	2. Part II

**.**

* * *

_**But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game**_

* * *

The lowering sun blazed liquid gold on the gilded domes, glowing over the Piazza de Popolo as it stretched beneath them, the ancient obelisk like a needle piercing the amber sky with the dome of St Peter's Basilica crowning the horizon. The hot night was laden with the scent of the Pincio gardens, the air heavy and dry. Beautiful as it was – and Klaus had attempted to capture the awe-inspiring scene in his paintings, but nothing could compare to the reality, no matter how artfully recreated – he had seen this view countless times; his eyes were drawn elsewhere.

Caroline had fallen asleep on the flight to Rome's Fiumicino airport, looking touchingly young and innocent curled up in the black depths of his jacket. The remnants of childhood dreams still clinging to the soft edges of her mouth (for once not pursed in quiet disdain), in the dewy brightness of her eyes that blinked at him with vague surprise on landing, as though she had forgotten where they were. Almost impossible to remember this was the same girl that had killed people, had snapped necks and drawn blood and massacred twelve witches. But Klaus hadn't forgotten.

He remained still, silently appreciating the aesthetic vision she made. The pre-Raphaelite curl of her hair, the white skin of her shoulders glowing against the pale gold Versace dress she had selected (and demanded he pay for because he had foolishly agreed to no Compulsion). Klaus hid a grin (she had exquisite taste – why was he surprised?) The blushing sunset a perfect backdrop to her elegant silhouette, so often hidden beneath denim jackets and conservative high-buttoned cardigans. His fingers ached to hold a brush in order to capture the coral shade of her soft lips…

Her sharp words cut through his reflections. "You're staring," she said, without turning around.

"You're very worthy of being stared at."

Her hands went behind her head to pin her hair back, but he said hoarsely, "No. Leave it down."

To his surprise, she complied, hands dropping to her sides.

"Nice view," she said.

"Is that all?"

Finally, she turned to face him. The sunset painted streaks of crimson on her pale cheeks. "Okay, it's stunning. _Beautiful. _What else do you want me to say?"

"That'll do to be going along with."

He moved to stand beside her. Drawn in by the bright sunburst of her vitality, yearning to see the candid _wonder _on her face that he had felt six _(seven? eight?) _hundred years ago, cresting the Monte Pincio to stand on this very spot. Klaus inhaled the night air, tinged with the scent of the perfume she had dabbed on the pulse points of her throat and wrists _(like an invitation)_. He wanted to run his fingers like whispered promises over the smooth skin of her shoulders, the ivory column of her throat. But time enough for that later.

It gave him peace for a moment, being able to watch her, open and unguarded. There was a simple beauty in appreciating the moment, to momentarily forget the hatred and anger that had sustained him through a millennia. To remain in a place knowing he would not have to run the moment he heard rumours of his father pursuing the trail of bodies and blood he inevitably left wherever he fled to next (Elijah had always bid him be cautious, but Klaus had gloried in the destruction he left behind, exulting in the satisfaction of laying all the guilt at Mikael's door). Too many deaths to care about, or remember. All banished to the crimson-stained mists of his memory. The worst of it all, he could barely remember Henrik's face, just the warmth of his limp body as it lay lifeless in his arms _(the first of my brothers)_. The memory of Kol _(and Finn, never forget Finn)_ possessed him again, and with it, blinding fury at the entire Gilbert-Salvatore _clan _– he envisioned scenes of vengeance, blood pouring from torn throats in a rich fountain of red, the jumping pulse of a heartbeat in his clenched hand –

No. He had other, more pleasing distractions to occupy him now. He would stay his hand for _her _sake, nothing more. She had _no idea_ of the restraint he endured for her.

"This could all be yours, Caroline," he whispered into the curve of her shoulder. She tensed and Klaus inwardly gloated, taking anything he could get. "You need only ask."

"I would get bored of it eventually," she said stiffly, and he wasn't sure whether she was lying to him or to herself.

"I've lived a thousand years," he said softly. "It hasn't bored me yet."

She remained silent; affecting not to hear him.

"Think about it," Klaus continued, watching carefully for her reaction. "All the things you could see and experience… I could show you them all. I would leave Mystic Falls, Tyler would be free to do as he pleased… no Hybrids, no Doppelgangers… only us and all the world at our feet."

"And how many other girls have you said that to before me?" Caroline asked, a little sharply.

"My my," he said, a smirk flitting across his face. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"As if," she said scornfully, blonde hair flying over her shoulders as she tossed her head dismissively. "You can do _what _you like with _whoever _you like, I don't _care._"

A sly pause. "Then there's nothing to be angry at, is there?"

The ringing echo of her silence resounded in his head like a battle cry.

…

The long curtains stirred faintly in the nocturnal breeze, a momentarily relief from the stifling heat that had been radiating from the sun-scorched stone. Caroline leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, looking out. She had the whole world open, right in front of her. Marble columns and ornate terraces and wide steps leading into squares with stone fountains, the white gleam of an old church. Faint music drifted in from a distant building with a floodlit classical exterior that might have been an opera house.

She turned back to the hotel suite. It was like something out of a fairy-tale, high-ceilinged and lavishly furnished, the kind of _grandeur _that the old Caroline of frothy and saccharine girlish dreams would have _thrilled _at. Even now, it was hard not to be reluctantly impressed (that someone was doing all this, for _her_). It was like a honeymoon, although she pushed that thought away before it settled too comfortably in her head. Reminiscent of luxury and old things and danger.

And Klaus himself, sprawled in one of the chairs like a depraved rake of the tattered paperback romances she and Elena and Bonnie had giggled at in their early teens. Back when petty social rivalries and high-school societies had been the centre of her existence. Her world had been shallow, but it had been _safe. _Simple. She hadn't _asked _for this life. She had wanted normalcy, routine –

_(Liar, _whispered a voice in her head, like a lingering caress. _You wanted it all. You wanted to be queen)._

She should have been like Elena, desperately wanting the cure to return to her humanity. Deep within was that awful sense of guilt, because Caroline knew that she wouldn't take it back – the people she had killed, the torture she had undergone, all the passion and pain – she didn't regret _any _of it. She couldn't go back to being the vapid cheerleader she had once been. Not now she had tasted something more. Deeper. Decadent. Delicious.

_Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it._

Caroline told herself sternly that the darkness was lonely and miserable. But there were parts of her that disagreed. Her life had been bright and airy and innocent _(glossy, vacant and empty)_. Adolescence had brought something else. Vampires and Hybrids, hunger and blood. She had been turned, and suddenly she lived more, hurt more, _loved _more. Every narrow-minded assumption turned on its head. The heroes turned out to be monsters, and the villains turned out to be…

Her gaze was drawn reluctantly to Klaus, who was slouched lazily back in his seat. Regarding her with glittering eyes, his mouth red and sly. An ingenious parody of an aristocrat, a gentleman savage, both courteous and wild. He must have been a good man once, but that thought was too uncomfortable to dwell on – no, easier to believe he had _always _been the bad guy (and always would be). A lopsided smile and an impeccable dress sense wasn't going to change that. She didn't care that he had saved her life or once thought of being human – he might not be completely evil, but that didn't make him _good _by any stretch of the imagination.

Yet so far, they had both managed to be carefully polite and civil to one another. Unnervingly so. But Caroline _knew_ that something was going to happen to shatter this façade of peace. Putting them in a room together was like dynamite. It was an achievement to have even a simple conversation without fighting because they always, _always _had conflicting agendas. Their whole relationship had been a series of fits and starts. No one else had the power to drive her teeth-grindingly _crazy _and then make her laugh a moment later.

Klaus unfurled himself from the chair, leaning forward to pluck a bottle from the ice bucket and setting two glasses down before them on the rosewood table.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

She shrugged as a sign of indifference (that was a subtle consent, and he must have known it).

He handed her a glass. Graceful, calloused hands _(too tender for a murderer). _The subtle graze of his fingers on her own could have been unintentional (but no, with him, everything was thought out with diabolical precision). Caroline set the crystal flute down, flustered. Pushing down that troubling, persistent feeling that she was getting in _way _over her head. _Get a grip, Caroline._

Plucked and pencilled brows narrowed as she glanced at him sharply. "If you try _anything _funny –"

Klaus held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He swirled his drink lazily in the glass. Drank long and deep and it was as though his mouth, his teeth, were at her throat, draining away her resistance.

Caroline sat stiffly, her heart tight in her throat. Her own glass remained untouched.

…

The taste of rich wine rolled on his tongue, heady and potent. Klaus tilted his head back, savouring the lingering dregs. A thousand long years and he still found it hard to resist drowning in the intoxicating hedonism of his own heightened senses. Never before had he felt the _need _to. Denial did not come naturally to him, a creature who never denied himself anything and answered to no one.

His memory drifted idly back to Chicago in the twenties, all flash and brass with ill-gotten, illicit wealth, the generous flow of liquor and blood, sharp suits and cocktail dresses, jazz crooning from the smoky, dark corners _(you would've liked the twenties…)_ Or the vibrancy of New Orleans, a swirl of noise and lights and colour. It was just a small taste of what immortality had to offer. Already, he suspected she was beginning to realise that a small-town life couldn't satisfy the things her soul craved for. And he wanted to show her everything. _Everything._

And she had already seized the opportunity to see what the world had to offer. His gaze fell on the shopping bags strewn around the suite. Caroline had dragged him to the Via dei Condotti, insisting that she needed a new wardrobe for college, marching them into endless boutiques with that driving, relentless _purpose _that wouldn't take no for an answer. Not even from him. She was a force of nature when she had her mind set of something. One fierce look from her could quell all his inner demons.

Fascinating, really.

"If I had anticipated this becoming a shopping trip," Klaus mused aloud, "I would have brought Rebekah."

Caroline laughed – actually _laughed. _A bright smile lit her face. Something unfamiliar stirred inside him – a lightness, almost like _joy_. He could make her fear him in a heartbeat, hate him in an instant, but to make her _smile… _ah, that was where true victory lay.

"Oh, come _on_." She threw her hands out expressively. "We're in _Italy, _the home of Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Armani –"

There was a glow in her cheeks. She was… radiant. Not since the night of her prom had she looked so beautiful _(stunning, captivating, a work of art)_. Klaus reflected that she had been born several centuries too late. She could have ruled empires, dominated imperial courts, commanded nations, all with an airy wave of her hand.

He knew the irresistible allure of authority and command, had spent an eternity wanting more – more Hybrids, more power. That hunting instinct settled deep in his bones. He felt such hunger, such thirst. To be a god among Vampires _(to have what Marcel took from me)_. He could have and do anything he wanted – except _her._ His longing for her was insatiable. Until he had her – _entirely – _he would never be satisfied. If there was a way to stop this voracious craving, he didn't know how – and he didn't want to.

"I'm glad you're happy, Caroline."

She stiffened, bristling and suspicious once more _(did she really think he was just going to throw her down and ravish her?) _Putting her glass down on the table with a sharp _clink_. Bright blonde curls spilling into her sharp eyes as she leaned forward, enunciating every word. "Let's be clear about one thing. You know you can't buy me, right?"

Klaus looked at her contemplatively for a moment over the rim of his glass. Took in her flushed cheeks (possibly from the wine, possibly the heat, possibly something else entirely), the trembling poise of her bared shoulders. Her gaze no longer fixed challengingly on his eyes but on his mouth.

His other hand curled around the arm of his chair. Desire simmered in his bloodstream, fangs pressing against his tongue and he tasted the tang of metal, sanguine and so, so _sweet_.

"I wouldn't dare," he said, smiling.

* * *

_**All the sinners saints**_

* * *

The heat of his gaze was burning into her. Caroline refused to look away, determined not to let _Klaus_make her feel self-conscious. He was looking at her like she was someone grand and important, rather than a former cheerleader who had spent most of her life living in the shadow of Elena Gilbert. Even Stefan – one of her closest friends these days – would always put Elena first (and had left town without so much as a _word) –_

But she was lying to herself if she thought that her friends not being around was the only reason she was here. It was pathetic (a remnant of the old insecure Caroline), but she had practically _jumped _at the chance to get out of Mystic Falls and escape the craziness that always seemed to find them. And who would she be safer with than a thousand year-old unkillable Hybrid?

_(You know that I would never hurt you…)_

She had had a taste of freedom and now she wanted to see it all; St Peter's Basilica, the Spanish Steps, the Bocca della Verità (she had always fancied being Audrey Hepburn in _Roman Holiday_) but she should have been doing these things with _Tyler, _Tyler who was half a world away from her, probably stranded somewhere in the middle of the Australian outback where there was no cell reception. Even contemplating the thought that she might be _enjoying _this felt like a betrayal.

She jumped when Klaus spoke, as though reading her thoughts.

"You can't live forever doing what's expected of you or stop yourself from leaving behind everything in your life in search of something more, something in a world worthy of you beyond cheerleading and high-school dances."

"If I recall, you _went _to one of those high school dances," Caroline snapped.

"And I believe I made you an offer there. Tell me, if I asked you again, would your answer be the same?"

"Yes," she said fiercely. Her nails bit crescents into her palms that healed a moment later. _"Yes."_

"Then why are you here, love?" he asked softly.

"Because I'm –"

"Feeling bad about Tyler? A very _convenient _excuse."

She scoffed, turning away. "You're deluded."

"Am I? I've seen the way you look at me. With allurement, attraction… no matter how much you might fight it and deny it to yourself."

Caroline rocked back on her heels, momentarily unsteadied. She tried to control the flush rising beneath her carefully-applied makeup. But when she looked at him, her voice was steady and calm. "You know I love Tyler."

Dark colour suffused the harsh ridges of his cheekbones. There was a promise of retribution in those stormy eyes. "You know," he said finally, "This evening is going to be awfully tedious if you insist on bringing Tyler into it."

"Why?" she snapped, hearing the biting tone in her voice and relishing it, wanting him to feel the cruel stab of her pain, this aching _emptiness _she had been feeling ever since Tyler had gone _(gone and not come back) – _"Feeling bad that you killed his Mom?"

"You forget that two of my brothers are dead. That makes us _more _than even."

"And what about me?" she said accusingly, hating herself for the hint of fear that betrayed itself in her voice. "If I did something to make you angry? Would you do that to _my _Mom?"

"Never," he said, low and intense, a latent ferocity burning in the oceanic depths of his eyes. "I promise you that, Caroline. Even though you oppose me, defy me and deny me – I could never live with seeing you in that much pain."

"Don't –" her voice was constricted – "Don't talk like you're – like you're one of _us._"

"Ah," Klaus said, a sneer splashed across his face like the spattering of blood. "Still convincing yourselves you're the heroes? Is that how you sleep at night after those twelve witches you killed? And Elena, who killed my brother and his entire line without a moment's hesitation?"

"That was different," she said falteringly. "We were doing it to protect the people we loved –"

"As was I," whispered Klaus.

"No," she said, tears flashing in her eyes, blinding her. "You kill for revenge, for _spite – _because you want to. And I could never, _ever _love someone like that."

"I could," he said roughly, his voice rasping like cinders. "If it was you." Caroline stared at him. "You could do anything, say anything, _become_ anything and it wouldn't matter to me. I would go on loving you through it all."

…

It was a show of damning weakness, laying his furiously untouchable heart in her hands, making him _vulnerable _– something Klaus had sworn lifetimes ago that he would _never _do – but it was almost worth it to see the bossy, chatty, incessantly talkative Caroline Forbes who always had an opinion on _everything _to be, for once, completely silenced and lost for words. A rare moment to be relished. Her confusion was delicious.

A senseless liberation overtook him. He always had been more brazen than wise. And now it was thrown down between them (a gauntlet, a _challenge_), she could no longer wield it over him like a weapon. It was done. He had said it. Let her decide what she would do with it. The wolf within him stirred instinctively, trying to find a weakness, something he could dig his claws into. A thousand myriad details reaching his senses; the heady, damp sweetness of her flesh, the knuckles of her hands clenched against the desire to _(kill him? Kiss him?), _her eyes bright and hard as sapphires.

She looked away from him, her unease evident. Perhaps she would laugh at him, _scorn _him, tell him how much she _loved _Tyler… Klaus knew better than to hope where she was concerned. But he wouldn't stop pursuing her. He would _never _stop hunting her. Centuries would come and go before he gave up the chase. She had no equal, no likeness. She had an innate core of strength that couldn't be measured by how easy it would be to crack her bones or rip the heart from her chest.

He had spent centuries knowing only loss, deceit, malice, hunger for power and a howling fury at the world, at all life. She was so different, so fresh and _alive, _even in death. Unable to comprehend the weight of the old agitations that darkened his existence. Tatia was nothing but a dim memory to him now – he was no sentimental fool like Elijah, loving ghosts century after century – he had lived long enough to know that a first love wasn't a forever love. Even Katerina had been only an amusing diversion _(clad in crimson velvet, possessing a capacity for love as mad as his own),_ a thing to charm and beguile before he bled her dry and snapped her neck once she had served her purpose (and Elena, her insipid little shadow, was barely worth a thought), but he had never felt that burning pull of hunger the way he did just by thinking of the sunlight glancing off Caroline's bright hair. He wanted her so much his gums were aching with it. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, he collected them, sought them out, hoarded them, but she was beyond a mere acquisition, something priceless and without compare. Power and incorruptibility. A rare combination.

The sight of her, the sound of her voice was enough to exorcise the stray shadows from his body, make him forget momentarily what he was. A creature choked on blood, resolved to vengeance and ruin. The sight of her smile, the _light _radiating from her made him all-too aware of the sickening realisation that he wasn't deserving of her. Almost stronger than the desire to possess her was the simple wish to just be _worthy _of her.

At last, she spoke. Low and careless, a dagger to his heart. "You only say that because you've done terrible things."

Klaus smiled wolfishly. There was a malicious gleam in his eyes. Not _nearly _good enough to deter him. A flash of memory – standing in the woods, seeing her numb and horror-struck _(I just killed twelve people) – _

"As have you, and all of your so-called friends. Stefan spent decades as the Ripper before he became shackled to his humanity. Even the _pure_ Elena gave in to her darker impulses and abandoned her emotions. Good people are capable of doing terrible things. So tell me, why can't terrible people be capable of doing good?"

…

Caroline felt her heart buckle. Flimsy, and easy to tear. She didn't know what to say, was scared that she had no answer for him. With such smooth ease, he had stepped effortlessly through her defences, insinuated himself into her life, and she could tell by the low intensity in his eyes that churned like the undercurrent of a sea-storm, that he wasn't going to admit defeat. Not by a long shot. It should have frightened her – and it _did _– but reluctant fascination was stronger than fear. He was no provincial Prince Charming like Matt or bad boy-turned-good like Tyler. He was _nothing _like them, and no small flicker of humanity was going to make her forget that. She refused to pity him, refused to try and understand him. She couldn't. She _wouldn't._

_(How can you do that, _she had asked Elena once. _Forgive someone in spite of everything they've done?)_

She wasn't Elena Gilbert. She wasn't a saint. And she would be _damned _if she was going to throw aside everything she had with Tyler for the sake of sympathising with a self-confessed _mass-murderer – _

Caroline straightened her shoulders; a paltry attempt at resistance. Pretending like he couldn't blow her down like an icy gale before she could so much as _think _of fighting him _(what do you know about fighting, silly Vampire girl?)_

"You've had _more _than enough chances to show that you're a good person. You've just chosen not to."

Klaus paused meditatively, which was almost more unnerving than those flashes of murderous impulse that took over him, made him blind with rage. Those at least she had become used to.

"It's possible to live a thousand years and still make the wrong choices. Revenge over compassion. Followers over family."

She looked at him curiously, drawn in despite her better judgement. "Then why don't you change?"

"Because it's better to be feared by everyone than loved by no one. We all want to be loved… understood... it's our weakness."

"No. It's _strength_."

"Has Tyler leaving you made you feel strong?" His blue eyes gleamed when she said nothing. "I thought not." There was something savage in the way he looked at her. Possessive. Lethal. "It seems we've both been abandoned by those who are supposed to care about us. Friends. Family. Fathers that hated what we became –"

"No," she said hoarsely, "My Dad –"

"Tortured you. Hurt you."

"He was scared of me." That old pain rose up in her throat, tight and choking. Her hands twisted in her lap, fisting in the satin folds of gold material as she fought down the memories. Her Dad – Daddy – it wasn't his _fault – _ "Sometimes _I'm _scared of me."

The shadows hid Klaus's face, long fingers steepled beneath his chin. His voice was very low. "Why?"

Caroline felt the words spilling to the surface, the wine loosening her tongue, bringing out thoughts that had been curled inside her, pervasive, for months. "I don't know what I'm turning into. I _hated _you for killing those Hybrids… but I did the same thing. I killed twelve witches. Twelve _people._"

"You see how easily the lines become blurred when you're one of the monsters. But I think even now… you wouldn't change what you are. What you've become."

Again, there was that uncomfortable truth in his words. She had the uneasy feeling he could see right through her, down to her bones. She _hated _that he could read her so easily, see the insecure little girl hiding behind the bold and bright exterior. "Does that make me a terrible person?"

"Terrible? No. Powerful. Dangerous. _Magnificent._"

"I'm a killer."

"You need never fear who you are with me, Caroline."

"Stop," she said, wearily. She didn't want to listen, didn't want to be told these things _(you're beautiful, you're strong, you're full of light) _– not by _him. _She refused to believe that _Klaus _of all people was the only one who understood her, not Tyler whom she loved or Stefan who had helped her through her transformation or Bonnie who she had known since she was five years old –

The air stirred and he was standing before her in an instant, hands cradling her face with unnerving familiarity.

"Do you really want me to?"

He was too close (but he had been too close for months now). Caroline could hear the pulsing of his warm blood. The memory of how it had tasted sang through her system, danced dizzily in her head. She found herself hyper-aware of his presence, the scorching heat of his fingers on her skin, the humming _stillness _of tautly-restrained power, the scent of pine and cologne and lowering storm-clouds. She realised a moment later that her breath was coming too fast. Klaus smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. His lips were dark as wine, dark as old blood.

"You like that I feel this way about you. It makes you feel strong, powerful… in control."

"I don't -"

"No? Even in your small little world, you crave power, status, the admiration of your peers. Even before you were turned, it was inside you. That part of you that seeks and yearns and strives, and will never be satisfied."

His hand curved around her cheek, bringing her chin up until she reluctantly met his intent gaze. His eyes an ocean of fire. "So what happens, love, when we both have to be in control?"

"We don't get anywhere," Caroline snapped, though a slight tremor tempered the steel in her voice.

"No," Klaus said on a snarl, surging forward. "We lose it."


	3. Part III

_**.**_

* * *

_**I'm in need of some restraint**_

* * *

It was a storm of all the desperation and loneliness and need he had been carrying, drawn out over weeks and months of wanting her, those fiercely buried desires forced to the surface and surging over them both, a tidal wave that blazed through his veins, leaving her tumbled head over feet, gasping, clinging to his shoulders for support.

Only for a moment. Then Caroline had shoved him from her, standing a good foot away, bright-eyed and trembling with passion, glowering at him.

"What the hell is this, Klaus?" she demanded, her temper crackling off her in waves as she went. "Did you think you could just sweep me off my feet with a few fancy views and impressive paintings and expensive bottles of champagne? Did you think I would forget _everything _after Tyler and just –"

"You weren't exactly fighting me, love," Klaus pointed out, not entirely unreasonably, he thought.

The explosive punch that threw his head to one side and had him seeing stars – _supernovas _– told him that clearly she thought otherwise. A halo of bright gold whirled around his vision and the world momentarily tilted on its axis. When the room finally righted itself, he saw she was still fuming, her anger burning bright and fierce. Just seeing her so incensed clawed at his insides, caught in his throat, and he wanted wanted_ wanted _her. She was brilliant in her fury. An inferno.

A euphoric, sadistic rush consumed him. He suddenly realised that all those trivial acts of courtship – buying her presents, giving her drawings, flattering her with compliments – were no way to win her. Caroline had no patience for anyone who lay down and gave up, and she _certainly_ didn't respect those who let her walk all over them. Now he saw that she was craving a fight just as much as he was. She might be loud, domineering, often annoying and always neurotic, but above all, she was indomitable.

Something inside him snapped. His hand flew out with preternatural speed, gripping her waist and pulling her to him. Her fists hit his chest (hard enough to crack his ribs), his pounding heart, brought to life after years of callous _emptiness _and bone-wearing cruelty.

"Back – _off –" _she gritted.

"Ask nicely," Klaus hissed in her ear, lithe fingers winding through her hair and pulling her head to slant his mouth roughly over hers again. It was brutal, shattering, but time enough for tenderness later… He wanted to burn in the heat of her, bright and searing as summer lightning. His tongue thrust against hers, a dark grin tugging the edges of his mouth as her lips – on a protest perhaps – parted to let him in.

Victory.

She tasted of champagne and sunlight and innocence. Citrus and honey, the sweetest nectar he had ever known, a stimulant even more intoxicating than her blood. He needed more, more of _her, _her passion, her strength, her conviction. He would devour her whole, a ravenous wolf. Ruthless, like a conqueror of old, plundering the raw silk of her mouth. And what a thing, to occupy her sharp, scathing tongue so often used for unleashing insults towards him.

This time, he released her, letting her go on _his _terms. His face darkened, moist and swollen lips pressing into a rigid line. He noted with satisfaction that her breathing was fast and shallow, the beginnings of a flush staining her cheeks _(you feel it, don't you, love?)_

"You promised you wouldn't –"

Klaus smiled with a flash of his old despotism (perhaps he really was half-mad). "I lied."

His mouth slipped lower to suck a dark bloom across her throat, tasting the hammering of her pulse. Her skin was tantalisingly soft, tantalising warm. Caroline clutched at his arms, nails digging into the fabric of his Armani jacket so hard she clawed the flesh beneath.

"This is stupid," she said breathlessly.

"Then tell me to stop," Klaus urged her, challenging, knowing full well that she wouldn't (he could _hear _the pounding of her heart).

Her fingers were trailing up and down the lengths of his arms, skittish. A blush on her face hidden behind soft beige powder. Her summer blue eyes had turned the colour of thunder clouds. He could taste her need in the air, dark and potent _(really now, did she think he couldn't sense it?)_

"We can't," she whispered.

"Oh Caroline," he said, looking down at her with an exulting smile, vicious. "Do you really think the rules apply to us? We're not like others, love."

A blur of movement and his back slammed against the wall, a deep crack rending the gold-leaf plaster.

"_Stop ," _she snarled – and to his surprise, his jacket hit the floor with a thud and she was tugging the sweater over his head – "calling me _love –_"

Her kiss was like an attack. It took Klaus only a few stunned moments before he responded heatedly, losing himself in the heady taste of her. He felt a thrill of satisfaction that here was no demure, shrinking violet – no, she was a _wild_ thing, as ruthless and unrestrained as himself for all that bossy, controlling exterior. _U__nleashed. _But he knew that already – the one time she had kissed him in the woods, nothing but raw heat and hunger and need, a pity he had been occupying Tyler's body at the time…

No such complications now.

He ran the scrape of his stubble along her skin, a dark feeling of grim satisfaction unfurling within him at the knowledge that he was marking her. He had a sudden, savage urge to _brand _her, imprint himself so fully on the pale gold map of her skin that she would never give Tyler Lockwood a second _thought._

But, to his surprise – _teasing girl _– she stepped out the way in a blur of gold. He lunged for her, but she coyly evaded him once more. The side of her mouth curved upwards in a _come hither_ smirk that elicited a low chuckle from him even as he moved in to kiss her again.

"Ever the tease, Caroline," he murmured, the amusement evident in his voice, but an undercurrent of warning lingered beneath, the promise that he wasn't prepared to wait forever. Still she danced on the edge of danger, only allowing him a mere grasp _(when he wanted to consume her whole)_, light, fleeting touches before pulling away, eyebrows raised with curved seduction. The small gesture set his nerves ablaze, leaving him wild, wolfish, wanting.

Enough tormenting. In a ripple of air he had moved and struck, hauling her easily against him. Caroline struck him half-heartedly across the ribs, the action swiftly turning into a caress as she immediately soothed the blow with the press of her lips.

"That's cheating," she mumbled against his chest, but made no attempt to escape.

Klaus wanted to laugh, but instead lightly nipped her shoulder, savoring the sweet, slick flesh of innocence. Then lower, burying his face in the soft valley of skin. Even in the dark haze of feral lust, he knew he had to hold back, to take care… he had bitten her before and the taste of her blood – light made liquid, golden champagne spilling across his tongue – was intoxicating, as was the heady knowledge that he had the power to bring her to the brink of death and back again. His mouth lingered at the rapid rise and fall of her chest, fingers toying with the gossamer thin straps crossing her back, drawing them down slow and reverentially. Her dress spilled to the floor like liquid, and Klaus's eyes drank her in. She was ravishing. He ran a hand possessively down the length of her body. Oh, the _things _he had imagined… he was a thousand years old and she had _no idea _what she was in for –

A hiss escaped his lips as she licked up the hollow of his throat, gripping the waistband of his jeans and pulling his hips to hers with a sharp jerk that caught him off-guard, trapping a laugh in his throat _(aren't you the eager one?)_ Her leg hooked around his waist, dragging him in deeper. Lashes fluttering shut at the exquisite pressure, and the little shuddering sigh that escaped her awoke something dark and primitive within him, a predator scenting blood in the air.

His fingers lingered on the lace edges of her underwear, the urge to tear the flimsy material in two almost overwhelming.

"Won't be needing these, love," he said hoarsely. But he resisted the temptation (he had waited _far _too long for this), instead concentrating on keeping his hands in seemly places, hearing the impatient growl in her throat.

He tucked a straying curl of blonde hair behind her ear and Caroline jumped at that – Klaus had to suppress a grin – he could ravage her without so much as a raised eyebrow and yet a little gesture of tenderness shocked her? She leaned away from him slightly, a questioning look in her eyes.

Klaus only laughed, a deep throaty sound. "Oh no, love. You had your chance."

A sudden cool draught of air then there was giving softness beneath him, the susurration of silk and the slide of bare legs around his waist. They had moved with such speed that he must have _thrown _her on the bed, pinning her beneath him. Klaus paused a moment to appreciatively take in the sight of her sprawled across the sheets, all pale skin against vivid crimson, the very embodiment of _luxuria_. The vision stole his breath. A thousand years of searching for beauty and he had never seen anything more exquisite…

One day, Klaus thought fervently, he would sketch her like this; wild, disheveled, that maddeningly _perfect_ blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she lay back, looking up at him with wanting in her eyes…

He curled his fingers around her wrists to lock her in place as he lowered his head to ravage her mouth again in an almost brutal kiss, lips and teeth and tongues warring in heated union –

Then Caroline seemed to remember her preternatural strength because in a blur of speed, she had gained dominance, shoving him down on the cushions and straddling his hips, gazing down at him with a fierce glow in her eyes. The vervain must have been leaving her system because he was able to get a brief glimpse inside her head, almost hear the flash of her thoughts _(always _such _a control freak – )_

"You know," she growled almost bestially as she shook the long strands of blonde hair from her eyes, "I _hate_ it when you do that."

"Then by all means," Klaus said with a salacious grin, wickedly jerking his hips upwards in a sudden movement that made her give a small cry and clutch his shoulders, "show me."

Her head bent over him, coils of gold hair brushing his chest, soft and tantalising. For a moment, Klaus was content to lie there letting her lips travel down his skin _(further, there – just – _**God**_, Caroline –)_ closing his eyes to the darkness and savouring the knowledge _(triumph)_ that he had her, _completely_, just as she had him. Her fingers danced light patterns across his hips. Tender almost, and he didn't want her to be tender, because he wasn't feeling merciful tonight. Oh no.

A guttural growl escaped him, his head thrashing from side to side helplessly. Did she enjoy this? Having him writhing – _pinioned_ – beneath her? _Overpowered, _his mind whispered sneeringly_. Tamed. _It was too close to weakness. His lips curled back in a snarl. He was supposed to be in charge, in control. He was the Big Bad, the Original Hybrid. And she had to know it. His fingers curled around her throat, the _beatbeatbeat _of her pulse hot against his flesh.

Caroline's head snapped down, her eyes locking with his. The uncertainty he saw there was exhilarating. Before she could so much as try to draw breath, he had reversed their positions, flipping her back against the sheets.

His eyes darkened with need and want at the sight of her. The straining rise and fall of her chest, her lips parted around a silent plea, fingers running up and down his back –

Caroline lifted her head and whispered demurely in his ear, _I want you to –_

Klaus hissed something inarticulate. He ripped at her hand, pinning it above her head, trapping her beneath him.

She wasn't going anywhere.

…

The breaths left her in short, sharp gasps. Her body trembling and pulsing, drowning in the sensation of warm bare skin _(the heady scents of cologne and pine and exotic spices),_ lost in the way Klaus was murmuring her name like a caress and a sin wrapped in one… _Caroline. Caroline. Caroline._

Her nails were digging into his strong, broad back, her heightened senses _flooded_ by him. The ragged heat of his exhalations, the scrape of stubble along her jaw, the perspiration on his musk-scented skin. Every sharp movement of his hips resonating through her, making her shake.

"Open your eyes, Caroline," Klaus whispered, the press of his fingers at her waist tender and _bruising_ and yet not _enough –_

Caroline complied without thinking, and almost wished she hadn't.

The breath caught sharp in her throat at the expression on his face, that contrary symmetry of refined and bestial. His irises caught between warring shades of blue and green and gold. His mouth was dark and swollen as nightshade blossoms. The glint of his teeth pressed against his parted lips (lips red as blood). He was smiling down at her, a devilish grin that told her _exactly_ what he wanted to do to her –

Her legs tightened around his ribs, silently demanding _(praying, begging)_. Klaus caught her upper arms, almost too rough, but she was mouthing _moremoremore _–

It had been far too long since someone had held her like this, and yet… no one had held her like _this._ Wild and untamed, all those courteous, gentlemanly airs long gone. Unrestrained hunger was pulsing in his eyes. Steel-strong arms were rigid around her (not that she had any intention of escaping, not that she _could_) –

He was alive under her touch. Muscled flesh warm and golden. Caroline ran her fingers almost wonderingly over the tattooed designs on his shoulders, half-inclined to ask the story behind them, but for once her inquisitive mind was silenced; all that mattered was getting her lips on every inch of bare skin she could reach and tasting the frenzied thrum of blood beneath…

He slowed the rhythm of his body. She could _see_ the tension in his wrists, the corded muscles of his neck, the concentrated effort of holding himself back. He kissed her softly. _Exquisite, _he breathed against her mouth_. _Artistic hands moving slowly across her skin, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of her. His expression serious. Revering. Slowly, breathing her in, _savoring _her. He was looking deep into her eyes, ardent and intent and with just a hint of wonder. Caroline faltered momentarily at the indescribable _yearning _she saw there_, _a wanting for something that went deeper than the instinctive need for sex or blood. It was a longing for her heart, her soul, her very essence.

Fingers slid through hers, slick, entwining. His movements slow and dragging, a sensation similar to that of his teeth at her throat, drawing the life from her… but it was all too deliberate, too languorous and drawn-out… she wondered vaguely whether this was his idea of retribution after she had spent so_ long_ denying him, and decided that he couldn't have chosen a more effective method of torture if he had spent centuries planning it –

The beads around his throat twisted between her sweating fingers as Caroline forced his head down to bring his mouth on hers, knowing he could _sense _her impatience. She bit his lower lip, tasting wet salt and heat. Lightning, spice and wine. His hands dropped to her hips, angling her more fully against him, and she couldn't _breathe _for pleasure of it –

Her fingers dug into his hair. Striving ruthlessly towards that white-hot pulse coiled at the centre of her being –

Klaus's face was buried against her neck, breath hot and sweet on her burning skin. "Something you want, love?"

"Please –" she choked – "_Klaus –"_

"There now." And he actually _stopped _momentarily, holding himself over her, a wicked smile curling the edges of his mouth. "That's what I was waiting for."

* * *

_**I'll lay your soul to waste**_

* * *

Sketch after sketch of her lay crumpled and discarded on the floor and on the table, the charcoal shadings unable to satisfactorily recreate the sweeping dusk of her lashes against her cheek as she slept. No paints or colors could do justice to the beginnings of early morning light casting a rosy flush on her skin, the pale curve of her exposed shoulder, the tumbled golden fall of her hair as it lay messily across the pillow.

In the end Klaus gave up the effort, sliding into bed beside her, an arm thrown possessively around her waist. He inhaled the scent of her – drowsy, sated, languid with contentment – and mouthed a soft _I love you _against her hair. As he lay deliberately still (close enough to see the freckles on her nose that by day she always stubbornly covered with powder, denying their existence) Klaus was aware of a strange sensation lingering beneath the dark satisfaction and triumph of conquest, and realised with some surprise that it was the closest he had come to happiness in a thousand years.

…

Caroline awoke to the sensation of lips blazing a trail down the back of her neck. Slow. Searing. Something inside her tightened _(painful, exquisite) _as she felt a warm hand curve around her hipbone. His exhalation hot against her skin. She remained motionless, feigning sleep a little longer before she would inevitably have to tell him to –

"You're a deep sleeper."

She started almost guiltily, turning her head to a glimpse of burning blue eyes and a predatory red mouth. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver.

"I was tired."

She winced at the sound of her voice – not naturally husky with sleep but hoarse and _raw,_ from –

"I'll take that as a compliment." A slow smile spread across his face as he took her in, lingeringly. Caroline felt a flush burn her cheeks as she realised the silken sheets were tangled down somewhere around her legs (she hadn't been in much of a state to care last night). She knew how she must look. There was no chance of lying to him, no way of scornfully dismissing it as something insignificant or forgettable _(wasn't really my thing, but thanks anyway). _He would never believe her. She would never believe herself.

He leaned in to kiss her but she pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

"Klaus, I –"

She _felt _him stiffen, his muscles turning rigid as metal beneath her fingers. His full lips were drawn tight, eyes slits of blue anger.

"Feeling guilty, are you?"

Just the _memory _of Tyler was a crushing weight inside her chest. She hadn't even _thought _about him last night, not with Klaus's hands and lips at her throat (and then lower still, murmuring,_ there love, there, that's it, I know you can, let me feel you – _and she _had, _all the while seeing his face dark with satisfaction, eyes wild and wanting as the convulsions shuddered through her) until she had barely been able to remember her own _name_ –

"Of _course _I feel guilty," she said, her voice shaking.

"Then I think we're done here." He sat up, and Caroline swallowed hard, for the first time really _seeing _him in the morning light. The scratches she had inflicted on his shoulders were already beginning to heal, but she hadn't even been aware she was _making _them. His curling hair was a mess_, _his lips swollen_._ Caroline winced. She hadn't realised she'd been so… aggressive. It frightened her, what she might be capable of, the thought that he could make her abandon all sense of herself (and she wouldn't lose control – it was too dangerous because she couldn't, just _couldn't _allow herself to fall in love with him). She thought back to how softly he had kissed her and felt even worse.

She could _hear _him ease himself off the bed, every sound painful – amplified. And thought, _what the hell do I do now?_

…

His hands were shaking as he dressed. Ribs clenched tightly around his heart. For a few brief moments, everything had been perfect. He had felt light and airy, full of joy. _Young. _Klaus felt that familiar twisting of agony – pain and rage and murder and such terrible_ loneliness _– didn't she realise he could crush her skull without a moment's effort?

His gaze fell on the drawings scattered around the lavish suite. He had burned his sketches of her once before – back in the days when he had tried to burn away his feelings, still fool enough to think this was something he could _fight. _They were nothing but hollow mockeries of the real thing, so close yet so unattainable. He didn't want mere outlines and shadows. He wanted her as she was, with her lashing tongue, her quick mind and her strength, her confidence and charm. Caroline, with her sharp tongue and soft heart. He had her, but he didn't _have _her.

She was sitting in the middle of the bed, the sheets drawn tight around her. She looked too young, too vulnerable, and somehow that made him feel like a scoundrel. Her accusing gaze pierced him to the heart.

"Why are _you _angry?" she demanded. "You got what you wanted – didn't you?"

Klaus wasn't aware of moving, but in an instant, he had her pinned against the wall, the thin sheet wrapped around her body. His anger swelled like a storm. He could snap her neck, crush her heart with his bare hands. He could destroy _worlds _if he wished it. Didn't she know that if she pushed him too far, it would be the last thing she ever did?

"Not even close," he snarled.

He paused to take in the sight of her; flushed and breathless, bare shoulders, summer-blonde hair spilling down (just _waiting _to be ravished). The scent of her inflamed his senses (a heady mixture of confusion and anger and fear and, yes, just a hint of desire). He was breathing hard, fevered blood thrumming beneath the skin. Caught between the conflicting impulses of tearing her throat out and kissing her _senseless –_

"I won't be made a fool of, love, and next time this happens, be assured that it will be just you and me in that bed, and not you and me and your absconding lover –"

"I didn't even _think _about Tyler," she cried. "Don't you _get _it?"

His hand dropped to his side, murder dancing at the ends of his fingers. "But you are now."

_Tyler. Always Tyler._

There was nothing but bitterness in his heart, mingled with the fury and desire for revenge. Knowing that whatever he did wouldn't erase the young wolf from her mind, that he would _never _win. Klaus suddenly thought back to a conversation with Damon Salvatore _(how is it she manages to overlook every horrific thing you've ever done?) _and _God, _he wanted to kill someone, or rip out his own heart and be rid of this _sickness_ –

He had sneered at Elijah with complacent derision at his folly _(so easily won, brother, drawn in by the little whore's smiles) _and had utterly failed to foresee his own impending damnation – _caught, ensnared_ – by a girl so young she was still in the morning of her prematurely-severed existence, only just beginning to have a _taste _of encroaching darkness. Elijah, at least, had been able to renounce Katerina when the time came. Klaus, led by his passions, a creature dominated by the fury of his impulses, was not so strong.

He was the real fool for love.

…

Caroline watched him warily from across the room. His blue eyes – probably for the first time since she had known him – were cold. Distant and unreachable. She suddenly realised how old he was, how much he must have seen. She must have seemed so pathetically young, a little Baby Vampire that had _no idea _about anything beyond her small town life –

"Say it, then." His voice was low. Weary.

"Say what?"

"Well, I suppose this is the part where you ask me to take you home."

Caroline glanced at him in surprise. There was a world of pain beneath that visceral surface of deep blue. Any last illusions she might have had that his interest was based solely in the thrill of the chase died then and there. _I've really hurt him, _she realised wonderingly. It never ceased to amaze her that someone so casually cruel could be that easily hurt. And she _hated _how much that affected her, how she could feel sorry for him, empathise with him like he was someone _deserving _of her sympathy.

_Wanting _him she could understand – after all, it had been nothing but physical attraction that had gotten Damon Salvatore into her bed a lifetime ago – but it was the thought of _caring _for Klaus that truly frightened her. The feeling had been there all along, lurking, tucked away into one of the more sinister corners of her mind. And, almost without realising it, she had moved towards it, towards _him, _as his voice whispered to her_. _He had crept inside her, embedding himself beneath her skin, and she wanted to tear him out. Because rationally, she could never love, never want a creature like him, so wild and ruthless and cruel.

But there was that _something _between them – a flash, a spark, the crackle of static when his fingers brushed hers – keeping her in place, keeping him in her life, and suddenly, the thought of him walking away was like a knife twisting in her heart –

"I don't want to go home," she said, quietly.

Silence. Silence so thick she could taste it at the back of her throat.

Klaus had turned very still. Tense. In his tailored black jacket and jeans, hands clenched at his sides, he looked startlingly _human,_ like any other guy _(but he isn't just any guy). _He had become so much _more_ than that. Appealing to both the little-girl Caroline and the bloodthirsty-predator Caroline; on the one hand making her feel like Cinderella finally going to the ball, and on the other allowing her to give in to her darkest impulses. Someone who would accept her, all of her, the good and bad, the light and the dark. Klaus, who answered to no one, who served no power higher than his own nature.

Caroline moved closer, her heart beating fast. Here was the man who could make her discover so many things, feelings, worlds… Here was the mysterious smiling creature who had watched her from the corner of his eye for so long, had she only had the curiosity to notice. This was Klaus, the lonely artist and unrepentant murderer.

She could almost taste the coppery blood thrumming just beneath the surface of her skin. This was the scariest thing she had ever done. For a moment, her resolve faltered. She remembered the warmth in Tyler's dark eyes, his comforting arms around her. It felt like a hundred years ago, the life of a different girl.

"I have feelings for you," she blurted out, not very gracefully.

"Do you?" Klaus retorted tightly.

He wouldn't even _look _at her. Her heart was thudding, hard and furious, and she clenched her fists, fingers tingling with the desire to _slap _some emotion into his face, because she was _Caroline Forbes, _former Miss Mystic Falls, goddamnit, and she did _not _get ignored.

She tried to keep her voice from trembling, her eyes burning bright. "You're petty and you're mean, and you've screwed up our lives more times than I count. And I keep telling myself over and over all the terrible things you've done, and that _none _of it goes away just because on the odd occasion you can sometimes bring yourself to be even _halfway_ decent. And I must be delirious from travelling through too many time zones to be even _thinking _about this –"

In a flash, he was standing in front of her. Sharp cheekbones ran high with colour, stormy eyes glowing like a fever.

"Caroline," he said hoarsely. "I mean this in the nicest possible of ways, but for once, _stop talking._"

His mouth melded to hers faster than rending lightning, swift and burning. Caroline could only grip his shoulders to keep from falling into the searing blue abyss of his eyes, pressing her body closer, closer, blazing like she had stepped under the full glare of the sun. She could feel possessiveness in the way his muscles clenched, his hands framing her waist, every touch hot-blooded and frenzied. As though he could never have enough of her –

She broke away, gasping for breath, and this time Klaus let her. He grinned, a flash of white teeth. His eyes almost black with wicked intentions.

"Oh," was all Caroline could manage.

"If that was your idea of a declaration, love…"

Still wrapped in nothing but a silk sheet, Caroline braced a hand against her hip, feeling something of her old Mean Girls attitude returning. She tilted her head to one side, watching as his hooded eyes followed the curve of her throat.

"When I make a declaration," she said sweetly, "Trust me, you'll know about it."

She would never get used to the way Klaus could move so fast.

"Is that so?"

He was standing less than a heartbeat away. A long-fingered hand coiled her hair, holding it up and above her head. It tumbled back down and his full lips curled. Warm breath ghosting the nape of her neck. Caroline swallowed hard. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so confident any more.

"Are you…" her voice wavered. "Are you going to…?"

"Not that the thought isn't a tempting one..." An appreciative, lingering gaze accompanied the words. "But I did have other arrangements in mind. I suggest you get changed if you don't want to miss our flight."

Automatically, Caroline opened her mouth to argue (old habits died hard), then paused. Matt was spending the summer with Rebekah. Elena was with Damon. None of them were exactly innocent anymore. And she was no longer the girl with bubble-gum pink nails who believed in happily-ever-afters. She realised she hadn't wanted that for a long time now.

She looked at Klaus. With his too-bright eyes and earnest face, it could have been the night he first showed her his paintings, giving her an intriguing glimpse of the man behind the monster. But she was just as drawn to that other side of him which called at something within her, deep and primal. The chaos to her control. Cold and wild, warm and tender.

He would always be the villain. She just wasn't sure what that meant anymore.

So, instead, she asked, "Where?"

Klaus's lips twisted upwards in that old familiar smirk she knew so _well. _The gleam of his blue eyes steady on hers even as his hands made circles of static electricity at her hips.

"_Tokyo."_

* * *

**Fin.**

**REVIEW if you like, wish this was canon, still can't get on board with the idea of the spinoff, etc etc. Or just to let me know that Klaroline fans still exist out there.**


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